


problems

by paintingraves (kallistob)



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Beating, Complicated Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24879424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/paintingraves
Summary: Eskel rescues Lambert from a public beating. Lambert is infuriatingly careless with his own life, and Eskel snaps.
Relationships: Eskel & Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800238
Comments: 11
Kudos: 63





	problems

**Author's Note:**

> Saw a post on tumblr with a multitude of angsty prompts and it awoke the writing muse! i'm planning to make this into a series *rubs hands together gleefully* 
> 
> 1\. "You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” 

Lambert doesn’t respond. The water of the bath is pink with blood. He keeps vigorously scrubbing at the skin of his arm with a cloth, again and again until Eskel catches his wrist. Lambert spits in the water, and grins up at him. One of his eyes is swollen shut. His lip is split, and his torso is black and blue. He is still covered in dirt and grime, and has spent the last ten minutes persisting in scrubbing his left arm instead of actually having a wash. 

Eskel sighs and takes the cloth from him. Lambert doesn’t protest as the older wolf starts cleaning him, dipping the cloth in the water, lathering it with soap and gently rubbing it over Lambert’s shoulders and down his arms. 

“Lift a leg,” Eskel says, and Lambert raises an eyebrow but obeys, putting his foot in Eskel’s lap. Eskel sighs and scrubs him clean there too, uncaring about the water wetting his own clothes and spilling over the rim of the bathtub to wet the floor of the inn’s room. “Head under water.” Eskel lathers Lambert’s hair with quick movements and tells him to rinse it off. He throws the cloth back in the tub. “You can do the rest yourself. Then come here so I can patch you up.” 

“Fuck off,” Lambert says, but there’s no heat in it. His head is bowed low. He grabs the cloth mechanically and starts dabbing it at his face. “I didn't need your help.” 

“Shut up, Lambert.” Eskel really has zero patience to deal with the man’s insincerity today. “You could have died had I not been in the area. Do you understand that?” 

Lambert shrugs, and that’s the core of the problem, isn’t it? 

“Did you want to die?” 

Lambert is silent for a while, but then he shakes his head and shifts into the water. “Nah.” 

“Then what the hell were you doing?” 

“Don’t you act all high and mighty with me, Eskel,” Lambert says, voice dangerously low. “It’s no different from you drinking and drinking and _drinking_ until you fuckin’ pass out...” 

“That’s…” 

“Or Geralt betting money he _doesn’t_ have in Gwent tournaments. _Or_ him fucking every powerful sorceress he comes across, ‘cos they remind him of his mother or _something_. Everyone’s got their own shit to deal with.” 

“You’re right,” Eskel says quietly. “You know what? You’re right. I have no right to lecture you, you’re a grown man. But as your _friend_ , as your _brother_ , as someone who cares deeply about you - I’m telling you now, Lambert, and I really hope you hear it - this is going too far. They were beating the shit out of you. One of them had a pitchfork, for fuck’s sake! We may be witchers, but we’re not invulnerable! Why the fuck did you just let it happen...?” 

“I needed it.” 

“You _needed_ to have the crap beaten out of you ‘till you couldn’t move?!” 

“Yes.” 

“By the gods, Lambert.” 

“I asked for it,” Lambert says, sniffling. “There were like three of them at first. They insulted me as I passed by. You know me - not gonna let that slide. I said _what the fuck did you just say?_ and they spat at my feet and insulted me some more, so I grabbed one of the bastards by the throat and held him up against the wall. He pissed himself. But the other two had gone inside the bar for back-up, and next thing I know I was surrounded by 10 very angry men with very poor opinions of witchers.” 

“And that’s when you apologized and backed off, of course?” 

Lambert laughed wetly. “Hells no. Threw the first punch!” 

_“For fuck’s sake.”_ Eskel paced the room. “And next thing I know, I get there completely by coincidence and see these guys teaming up to beat some poor sod and who do I see? My little brother, too weak to defend himself. Saw red.” 

Lambert looked at him at that. “... What did you do, Esk’?” 

“Nothin’.” Eskel crossed his arms. “Elbowed my way in, swung my sword, made a few threats, disarmed that guy with the pitchfork and knocked him out. Got us the hell out of here to the next town. You were out of it. You scared the _shit_ out of me, Lambert. _Don’t_ do that again. It was reckless, stupid, immature behavior. Might not be here next time. I don’t want to find you hanging by the neck on the ramparts of a city because you couldn’t keep your mouth _shut.”_ Eskel passed his hand over his face. “Fuck, if you need someone to beat you up, just... spar with me or something. I’ll… I’ll do it. I’d prefer this to you dying at the hands of a mob. Please, Lambert.” 

Lambert rose from the bath, grabbing the dry towel on the nearby stool and tying it around his waist. His back was mottled with bruises too. Eskel pressed his hips into a thin line, noticing the way Lambert limited his movements. 

“Come here,” he said again, and Lambert did. Eskel sat on the bed, Lambert between his open legs and looking at the ceiling. Eskel pressed his hands against the bruises on Lambert’s chest, feeling for broken ribs. Lambert coughed. 

“Put salve on those,” Eskel murmured. “And your face. I’ll give you a potion, you’ll feel better tomorrow.” 

“Hmm.” Lambert shivered. 

“You’re cold.” 

Lambert batted his hands away. “I’m just fine.” 

“I meant it, Lambert,” Eskel continued as Lambert pulled on a loose linen shirt and his smallclothes. “I’d be willing to help, when - if - you get like this again. I’d prefer if it was me and not some random stranger.” 

“You, offering to give me a good beating session?” Lambert scoffed. “How would that even go? You’re too soft. Look at you, with your puppy eyes and pathetic expression.” Eskel growled low in his throat. “I’ll do what I _want.”_

“You’ll get yourself killed.” 

Lambert shrugged again, and his offhand attitude about his own _life_ suddenly made Eskel furious. He stormed across the room and pinned Lambert against the wall before he could react, pushing his face against the stone with all his strength. “Try me,” he said threateningly, his chest pressed against Lambert’s back, an arm curled around Lambert’s waist and holding him prisoner. “Soft, uh? Fuckin’ try me, pup.” 

“Eskel…!” Eskel bit him at the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Lambert cried out, reeling. “Ow, what the fuck?! That _hurt_ , you bastard! Stop it!” 

Eskel licked the shell of his ear, holding him tighter. “Do I have your promise that you won’t go to another man for help? That you won’t be this stupid again?” 

“Let me _go!”_

_“Lambert!"_

Eskel was holding Lambert’s wrist so tightly it had to hurt. He briefly considered slamming Lambert’s head against the wall, but that’d be taking it a step too far - although it made the dark, monstrous thing awoken inside his chest roar with pleasure.

Fuck. Shit. What the hell was he _doing?_

“Lambert,” he repeated, voice broken, and Lambert shouted. 

“I yield! I promise!” 

“Fuck.” Eskel bit the man’s ear feverishly and released him. Lambert slumped to the floor, eyes wide and holding his wrist, although he scrambled to get up immediately, leaning against the wall at his back for support. 

“The hell?!” 

Eskel had no idea. He motioned for Lambert to come closer and the younger man still did, on wobbly legs. He sat down on the bed. Eskel took the healing salve and said roughly, “I’ll do your back. You can do the rest yourself. Think I need some air, or I'll do something I'll regret.” 

Lambert nodded, and held his breath when Eskel’s fingers touched him. But the wolf was gentle again as he slathered the cool salve other the bruises, and Lambert breathed deeply, the cream a relief on his overheated skin. 

When he was done Eskel tossed him the salve and got up. Lambert turned his head to look at him, but Eskel wouldn’t meet his eye. He opened his mouth to speak, seemed to think the better of it, and left the room without another word. 

Lambert sat still on the bed, silent. 

After a while he went through the mechanical motions of taking care of himself. Once he was done, all he wanted was to sleep, and so he curled up on his side in the inn’s bed under the covers and closed his eyes. 

When he came back, a few hours later, Eskel found Lambert fast asleep and snoring. He always looked younger like this, the features of his face smoother, his permanent frown gone. Eskel sighed. 

He still had no idea what had come over him, and hacking trees in the forest with his sword for two hours hadn’t given him any answer. He'd been angry. Irrationally, suddenly angry. He just wanted Lambert to be _safe_. He hadn’t lied when he’d said that the scene he'd stumbled upon in the village where he’d found Lambert had scared the hell out of him. He honestly thought for a second that Lambert was dead. There were so few of them left, so few witchers… It would kill Vesemir if he had to bury any of them before their time. 

There had been a beast, rising like the tide within him when he’d had Lambert at his mercy. Its presence terrified him. Like he'd lost control of his own body for a moment. This wasn’t a solution. Sparring with Lambert? Yes. Deliberately beating Lambert up, knowing he _wouldn’t_ defend himself? No. Such harmful behavior couldn’t be encouraged. Lambert had to grow out of this, or find another outlet for his self destructive tendencies. 

Eskel had no idea what he could do. 

He passed his hand over his face again and put down his sword scabbards on the floor. Meditating, for now, was a good start. 

Come morning he and Lambert would have a real discussion - which promised to be as pleasant as pulling teeth - and hopefully come to a solution. 

That was all. 

He could only wish it would be enough. 

  
  



End file.
